


Leviticus 20:13

by sadfrogo8



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadfrogo8/pseuds/sadfrogo8
Summary: ‘If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.’Time is running out for Nick. Religion no longer has it's grasp on him, and his father isn't proud of him by any means...but religion can be many things, sometimes it can be a song, a cigarette, a hard drink after a long week. This time...it's the priest's son.
Relationships: Karlnap - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter I

‘If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.’ 

The early morning sun trickled in through the gap in his blinds; blessing the dimly lit room with its glorious presence. His bed covers where askew, thrown around his shoe box of a room with a carelessness only a child could possess, it resembled a fort, a masquerade of black and white. Nick, who owned this bedroom, was knocked out. Limbs a pile of unresponsive bones beneath oceans of warm flesh, his hair akin to his bed covers, a forgotten kingdom of brown knots. He was wearing basketball shorts, and nothing more, for the sun pooled onto his stomach, kissing it gently. It was warm in this room, too warm, he seemed to toss and turn under the sun's lazy gaze; alas, it was Sunday, nobody does anything on a Sunday. Well, not here, not now. 

Knock knock. 

Brown eyes burst open. Nick sat up, a fountain of blood rushing to his head from his sudden movements, as he groaned and collapsed back against his bed.   
“Come in” his voice dripped from his tongue, the two words following pooling with languor. The door burst open, a shadow concaving onto the oak floor. Nick's eyes met his fathers. He was a tall man, with a build he could only describe as similar to Zeus himself. His hair was as black as coal, and from all the gel in it, just as rough and stale . He was dressed in black, an outfit that would put the Grim Reaper to shame, his beard was bushy alongside his thick eyebrows. To be honest, Nick didn’t like his father, and from the lack of womanly presence in their home, neither did his mother. He preached the words of God, and Nick would repeat them like a broken jukebox. His father wanted Nick to be like God; how can you make a god out of a hollow corpse?  
“Get up” his father spat, venom oozing out of his mouth.   
“Why” came Nick's reply “It’s Sunday”, he bundled himself back in his blankets, the faint smell of weed and last night's booze crawled into his nose.   
“Church, I better see you downstairs in 10 minutes.”. Slam. Alone again. 

The car ride was silent. The tie around Nick's neck was squeezing the oxygen out of him, it was a snake, tangled around his gullet. He felt sick, there was a burning in the back of his throat that crawled further up it each time his father turned the car. He felt numb, the lack of weed running through his veins was torturing, he would be conspired to a hot church for the next hour and a half, the words of God shoved into him. Nick believed in God, he wasn't saying he didn't, he just didn't think God was fair, he called people holy and left them hollow. His hands were ice, clenched together in his lap, he feels like he's already on the autopsy table, and with the way things are going, he doubts it'll be long before his father is picking out his casket. On days like this, he misses his mother. Her hands were warm, and her voice was honey, and when she left it tore him open but he learnt a lot about love. She was his God, and he calls her that, partly because he's afraid to utter her name, less he receives a red handprint on his cheek like last time. He was scared, he's going to die and he laughs along because it's funny, he's going to hell because that's all he knows, he does not believe he shall ever know what old age looks like on him, he doesn't think he’ll know the feeling of his skin when the wrinkles have clung to him, much like his fathers face. The car stopped. The church scowled down at him, maybe it knew, he was not holy. 

Old oak doors cracked as his father pushed them open, the stained glass windows painted rainbows on the floor, he walked down the aisle behind his father. The roof was tall and towered over them and the remaining people in the church, stories of deities bleached into the walls, and on every corner you laid your eyes on, the pews were old and made a distinctive creaking noise when you sat down, if you listened carefully, they were screaming. Nick found himself in the front pew, smushed between his father and an old lady, who was distinctively shorter than him. His eyes found the preist, clad in long white robes, small golden accents caught the sun every time he lifted his arms, his eyes lazily scanned the members surrounding him and...who was that? 

Karl. If Nick remembered correctly, frankly he didn't show up enough in church to know, but that..that was Karl. He had brown hair, curled to perfection and it hung slightly below his eyebrows. His skin was pale, rivers of it caught the sunlight, the sports that received the most had been praised in small freckles; they were little kisses. His lips were pink, and Nick couldn’t stop staring at them as he muttered something or other about being saved by the Lord...Nick wouldn’t be able to stop staring even if he wanted. The priest had started up a prayer, but he wasn't listening anymore. “Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit” the words bounced off the walls, and Karls lips moved with them. His eyes were shut and clenched tightly, dainty eyelashes, but Nick knew his eyes were brown, and he wanted to drown in them. Nick felt divinity in his bones, they were aching, this was magical. But there was no magic here, only open wounds...this was wrong. “As it was in the beginning is now, and ever shall be” Nick knew he was meant to be stone-cold and self-reliant, he was a man. But his knees were weak and his ribs were cracking, and oh god he was going to throw up. “World without end” ...Karls hands undid themselves; they were sleek and boney, long and attentive. They were sinners' hands, and Nick wanted to be on his knees.


	2. Chapter II

Rain. It seeped down from the heavens with an anger only the gods could match, drowning out the summer heat with its cold, unforgiving touch. Today, it banged on Nick's window, begging him to wake up, for it was noon, and the rain waited for no man. The sun didn’t bless him in light today, it was adsent in Nick’s ritual of waking up, but then again, his veins had been pumped so full of starlight last night, it wouldn’t be surprising if he never did awake. You see, it was Saturday, and last night he had been at a party. He thinks it was his friends, but to be honest, it wasn’t important whose it was, just the fact drugs and alcohol were present. He remembers the way the lights burst across the ceiling of an unknown home as he laid on a sofa, lips swollen and bruised from colliding with someone else's, a someone he would most likely never see again. His arms rested on his stomach, the steady rhythm reminded him he was alive. His legs were a broken empire near the end of the couch, they would crumble and crack every time he heaved himself up. He felt light, he felt ethereal, he felt magical; he felt like God. Karl reminded him of God. Karl, the brown haired boy who made him feel like he was already in hell, he wasn't there...yet. He couldn’t get him out of his head. He wants to kiss him, or something like that. But he’s always stoned, and Karl looked like religion in a mortal body. So, he heaved himself home, and disintegrated into a puddle once his withering form hit the mattress. Anyway, his father would be coming to get him soon, and he couldn’t wait. 

Speak of the devil. His father loomed over him, clothing crisp with the scent of coffee, cracked knuckles clutching a rolled up newspaper. His brows furrowed into a bridge across his forehead, the disappointment etched in permanent marker across his cheekbones. His son, an ocean of rebellion spread out on a mattress at 12:05pm on a Saturday. Typical. The newspaper came down on him and cracked Nick’s spine like a whip, his body recoling and jerking awake. His breathing came out shallow and soft, yet unrhythmic and hard, his hangover from last night dripped from his bones like wine from lips. Brown eyes met, and glares sharper then daggers were shared. “The fuck do you want..?” slurred the teenage boy's voice, thick with sleep.   
“Where were you last night.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He should have been studying, he had exams. Nick didn't care.   
“Out.”, he stood, slowly wobbling side to side as he braced himself on his bedpost, his lips still burned from last night.   
The floorboards creaked as his father met him at the end of the bed, a monument of decomposing glory.   
“You were at a party,” the words were harsh, “Weren't you?” Silence. Nick wasn’t going to admit it, but he was scared. His mothers meek manners had leaked into his chest, and his fathers anger issues had built a wall in his throat. He would snap back, but he had his father’s full attention, and he was hungover. His father would overpower him easily. Fuck it.  
“And what about it.” Red. The newspaper kissed his cheek and left him sprawled on the floor, blood dribbled down his nose, the taste of metal filling his mouth. He gagged.   
“What have I told you Nick, those parties are no good for you...sin always finds its way back to you, doesn't it?” his fathers footprints got quieter, he was leaving, thank the heavens. “Be ready in fifteen.” Nick hauled himself from the floor, red covering his chin, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to run away. But he didn’t. He whipped the blood from his face, and went to get his clothes from the closet. 

The country side looked nicer in the rain. Nick was in the car, his eyes glazed over. He was tired. His nose hurt, the blood of his mistakes that once flew through his veins had come out of his nose in fountains, until he held his hands under them and willed it to stop. His father was taking him to the church, for it had been 2 weeks since their last visit, he was taking him to see the priest, something about ‘teaching him the ways’, Nick stopped listening after that. Holy water couldn’t help Nick now, nothing could, for the weight of a thousand men pushed down on his shoulders, and the bitter taste of his childhood had disintegrated long ago...what was he doing? He was going to church...Karl is at the church. Not again. Nick wanted to fall in love, and he wanted to fall in love with Karl. He just wishes it wasn’t in church, he just wishes he wasn’t surrounded by homophobes. He wishes he met Karl under the glow of a streetlamp somewhere up north, California maybe, they always did have warmer summers. He hasn’t even talked to the boy, he hasn’t even heard him speak...Nick didn’t care, he wishes he had heard him speak, but he still didn't care. It’s not like this was going to go somewhere anyway. He’d forget about Karl once he moved out, and became a drug addict in a sunken city somewhere. Karl would become a martyr; Nick thought he already was one. The car had stopped a while ago. The rain pounding on the door was replaced by his fathers fist, urging him to exit the vehicle. The sanctuary frowned at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! thank you all so much for the love on my last chapter, it has really calmed my nerves about posting it :D i'm starting school on tuesday, but it probably won't interfere with my update scheduel too much! once again, thank you all so so so much for being so kind to me, and i hope you enjoy this chapter!!


	3. Chapter III

The angels came too late, Nick thought as his wrists were held in that tight grip of his fathers, and he was hurried out of the car. His throat had closed up with fear, the burning in his wrists could only be described as unbearable as each step up to the building felt like a step closer to his grave. They never went to church on a Saturday, at least HE didn’t, he wasn’t sure about his father. Speaking of which, they hadn’t spoken the entire car ride, not that Nick was complaining, but it was...strange. He didn’t miss the glances his father would grace him with, nor the way he swallowed nervously whenever Nick gave them back. He was like his father in many ways the more he thought about it; filth teaches filth. It terrified him to the point he could barely function. They were standing outside those same rustic doors his hand had touched millions of times, his father was flipping through papers beside him. He couldn’t make them out, his eyesight had never been the greatest in hindsight, but he saw his name once or twice. Heaven help me, he thought, but nobody is answering. He’s searching for heaven in backstreet alleys, behind his teeth, in old whiskey bottles- it’s still not going to answer him. The rustling of papers awoke him, as his fathers calloused hands met wood, and they entered the holy grounds once more. Alas, there was nobody here, the candles weren’t lit, and the sunlight didn’t bleed through the windows like it did Sunday morning. His father set off at a quick pace down the aisle, Nick idly in tow, despite the confusion welling into the pit of his stomach. His father came to an abrupt stop at the front of the nave, his gruff voice pleading for the priest, whose footsteps could be heard from elsewhere in the building. 

The priest appeared, dressed in his white robes once more, small accents of purple scattered here and there. He smiled upon seeing Nick’s father, said demeanor quickly changing upon seeing the messy haired teenage boy. Nick's breathing hitched, as the priest takes his fathers hand in his own, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear, and they step aside to talk. Oh god, Nick thought, this is it, he’s pushed his fathers buttons, he’s going to be sent away to some prestigious boarding school somewhere where they're going to beat the rebellion out of him…  
‘Hello’. Oxygen flooded Nick's lungs again as the soft voice blessed his ears, he whipped around, to only be met by the pews again, but when he turned back around...there he was. Karl, dressed in brown corduroy jeans, and a large, worn crewneck with some...band on it, but it had faded long ago. If Nick had to guess, he’d say it was The Rolling Stones. His hair was curlier than it was when he last saw him, it was wild, and it made Nick's heart skip a beat. His hands were behind his back, and he was rocking back and forth on his feet, the heels of his maroon converse hovering off the ground ever so slightly. He was smiling though, his soft pink lips turned upwards, his nose scrunched ever so slighlty, alongside his eyebrows. The freckles danced across his face like stars, Nick wanted to count them, but he was too far away. His eyes, oh god his eyes, they were brown, and they were beautiful, and it hurt...it was breaking Nick's heart. Karl had everything, his parents were proud of him no doubt. His ancestors were smiling at him, could Nick say the same? Karl had everything, Nick wanted nothing but Karl.   
‘Are you okay?’ there it was again...Nick knew he had to respond.   
‘Im fine’, his voice came out harsher than he wanted,and Karl's smile faltered ever so slightly, and Nick wanted to hit himself for it.   
‘Figured’ Karl whispered, his doe eyed gaze landing on his father. ‘Im Karl’, he said after a few seconds, his left hand reaching forward in greeting.   
‘Nick’, he whispered, his hand coming to clutch Karls. He was burning, Karls skin was warm and oh so soft, and Nick wondered if the skin of his thighs was just as pleasant. He let his mind wander, again. Karl was short, Nick himself wasn’t exactly the epitome of tall, but Karl was smaller than him, and not just in height. His waist was tiny. He could tell even from the baggy crew neck that adorned his flesh, and Nick knew his hands would melt into the skin of the boys waist if he touched it, just like it was meant to be. He could break Karl in two if he wanted to, make a god out of him. He could taste blood in his mouth, he was biting down on his lip to stop himself from telling the prodigy in front of him how badly he wanted to push him onto his knees, and hear him choke out the lord's name. His ribs are bruised, his heart is throwing itself against them, and he cant help but wonder how easy it would be to pick up Karl and shove him up against his bedroom wall, and glory will no longer sound like a punchline, when he’s blessing the boy before him. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he wishes oh so badly it was Karls. 

‘Boys, come over here, would you?’ the priest's voice boomed. Nick suddenly remembered where he was. He was in a church, with his father, the priest, and the priest's son, who he so desperately wanted to make his. He let go of Karls hand, who was still innocently smiling up at him. He hated him. They both made their way over to the two men, who shared glances between them.  
‘Nick’ his father started, holding eye contact with him. ‘I don't appreciate your behaviour recently. This isn't what the Lord wanted’. Nick cringed under his fathers disappointing gaze, and eyed Karl, who was also being attacked with glares from his own father, surprisingly enough.   
‘What do you want me to do about it then…?’ Nick questioned, his signature smirk finding its way to his face. His father frowned, but he couldn’t hit him here...could he?.   
‘I’d wipe that smirk off your face my boy’ the priest chimed in, his hand now on Karls back, said boy looking like he wanted to throw up. ‘Karl will be your mentor, teach you what should have been drilled into your head already’, he spat again, pushing Karl slightly towards Nick, enough to feel his body heat and make him go weak in the knees. They locked eyes, both daring each other to refuse the offer. After a few painfully silent seconds, Nick's eyes met the priests. ‘Fine’ he challenged, the smirk never leaving. He could no longer taste the blood in his mouth, maybe soon enough, it would be Karls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again :D once again, thank you for all the love <33 im v grateful. i started school today, and i forgot how stressful it was, i had no idea what was going on all day. but i finish pretty early, so i have more time too write :3 anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and i will see you soon <33

**Author's Note:**

> hello :D thank you so much for reading my first chapter! im very nervous about it, but if it wasn't for my friend sloan you wouldn't be reading this. she's really helped calm my nerves, and she is my best friend! check out her work, she is v e r y talented (phosphenes). ill try and update as much as i can, im aiming for 1-2 chapters a week, but no promises. once again, thank you very very much for readingg!


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